Owen’s gaze followed his. There was not much more to see from this height than on the ground, but he felt closer to the sky and could see the river better down below. A few gnats flew in the muggy air.
“When I was a boy, I used to go into the woods with some friends and climb rocks like these, except much bigger. It’s a wonder we didn’t fall to our death. We nearly did a few times.”
“Hm,” Colt hummed.
When Owen faced him, he saw a distant look in his companion’s eyes. “What? Did you never do the same when you were a boy?”
“I didn’t have rocks to climb when I was a boy. We had stone buildings.”
“That’s just as well, isn’t it?”
“Not when your reason for climbing them is to steal bread.” Colt nudged Owen’s arm. “Come on, let’s go before Amias starts yelling for us.”
A strange feeling gripped Owen’s stomach. He said no more as they climbed down and made their way back to camp. As Owen came inside the ruins, Amias tucked something away into the inner pocket of his coat before he stood and smiled.
“Catch anything?” he asked.
“No, but Colt did.”
“You will soon enough. You two ready to head out?”
Owen nodded, and they readied to leave the ruin behind. It had been a blessing that they had stumbled upon it. Owen pulled out the white feather he’d found, kissing it before sending it off with a burst of power that sent it flying.
He sighed and walked with his companions alongside the river. They would have to cross, and luckily found a shallow spot down the way. There were large rocks everywhere, some wedged halfway in the water and some submerged enough to step on and get the bottoms of his boots wet.
The river was narrower here, but Owen did not want to chance a fall with dry clothes. He steadied himself, lagging behind Amias and Colt.
“We haven’t got all day for you to dally, Owen,” Amias told him.
“I don’t want to slip and fall!”
The sound of a hawk spiraled out over them, and Owen looked up quickly in time to spot the white feathers of the bird before it flew into the treetops. He wondered if it was the same one who had led them to the ruins.
“Magnificent creatures.” Amias searched the trees for the bird. “And a sign of a good path before us. Hopefully this means we’ll be out of here before long.”
“White hawks are said to be kind-hearted,” Owen said, coming up beside him. “I think it led us to the ruins.”
“Possible.” Amias searched Owen’s face and smiled broadly. “I believe nature is in tune with those who understand it. Animals as smart as those are like guardians of forests like these. Perhaps we did not see any tree men or little people, but a great spirit instead.”
Colt brushed off his pants as he came up beside them. “Oh, right—bird spirits. I bet they eat all the little faerie people here instead, or whatever it is you believe in.”
“Are you done?” Owen turned an annoyed eye on him.
Amias chuckled, then cleared his throat and took the lead. “Come on, you two.”
“Many thanks,” Owen whispered to the trees in hopes that the hawk heard him.
They moved into the heart of the forest, where the pines loomed high above them.
By evening, they found a spot to camp in the nook between several rocks. The night would thankfully bring them cold, dry air. They built a roaring fire, and as they settled, Colt skinned the rabbit and skewered it over the flames.
Amias sat beside Owen. “Would you like to practice your channeling again?” he asked.
Owen’s chest tightened, his eyes growing wide as he ate a few shelled pecans from their provisions. “Right now?”
“Yes. It’s dark, and no one’s around. I think you’ll be safe to do so.”
“I’ll try, I suppose. I was able to send the feather flying out earlier. How do I do it with something heavy?”
“It’s an energy you’ll recognize when you feel it. Like sitting so close to a fire it almost burns, except inside of you.” Amias’s eyes reflected the light from the flames, holding a look of longing. “I’m sure you’ve already felt it.”
“Do you miss it?” Owen asked. “Being Astran?”
Colt looked from Owen to Amias as he whittled something with his small pocket knife.
Amias smiled painfully. “Of course. That’s why I want you to fight for it. The Legion has no right to take away what doesn’t belong to them.”
Owen crossed his legs in the dirt and leaned forward. “All right. So what do you want me to move?”
“Here.” Amias placed an apple on the ground in front of him. “But don’t get carried away. It’s a large object. I don’t expect you to suspend it, but you can try to nudge it with your power.”
Owen nodded and focused on the apple. Its yellow color shone in the firelight. He inhaled deeply and held out his hand, but nothing coursed through his body. He pursed his lips and pushed his hand forward, but the apple remained idle.
Colt chuckled from nearby.
Owen glared at him. “What’s so funny?”
“You. If you’ve barely been able to channel power, then you won’t be able to lift that apple. Stop thinking you can do it.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.” Owen’s cheeks flushed.
Colt leaned forward, pointing the tip of his blade at the apple. “You’re trying too hard, mate. He said to nudge it, not throw it. I can see you moving your hand.”
“All right, then you show me, since you know how it should be done.”
“I would, but I’m not made from stars.”
Owen narrowed his eyes in frustration.
Amias raised his chin, crossing his arms. “I haven’t had my power in almost thirty years. I’m bound to tell him the wrong thing. Colt has a point. Start small. Here, try this acorn.”
“But I can barely see it,” Owen returned.
“Sit closer to the fire. There you go. Now focus on it. Don’t worry about moving it hard, just nudge it.”
Owen glanced at Colt, who winked, before he looked back at the nut. The man was a distraction, which made it hard to concentrate. Instead, he closed his eyes and opened his mind. Something stirred in his chest, a small spark that began close to his heart. It ignited, and a warm stinging sensation ran through his shoulders, his arms, and eventually to his hands.
He winced and took a deep breath. Feeling as though something would burst through his hands, he raised his arms and felt the burn leave his palms. A feeling akin to static prickled at his skin, and he could barely feel the curve of the acorn in his hand. The energy was too much for him, and he dropped his arms, his breaths short and rapid.
When he opened his eyes, the acorn was touching the tip of his boot. He looked to Amias, who smiled and nodded at him, and then to Colt, who smirked.
“And that is channeling,” Amias said. “The moving of mass around you. Or even the air, as you did before in the field, and with the feather. Albeit, this was small, but it’s still a product of your power.”
Owen smiled as a new energy overcame him. It was as if a part of him had been closed off, and he had just opened it for the first time. He felt more in tune with the vibrations of the trees and animals around him. It was a strange feeling, but one he welcomed—though not for long, for shadows could be lingering nearby.
After a night of restless sleep, the tingle in Owen’s throat turned scratchy, and his nose began to run. His muscles ached and burned, and his damp feet were cramped in his boots. Every dry breath of air he took in as he walked made the sting in his throat worse, and the cool air against his ears made them ache, but he pushed on with the promise of a warm bed at the end of the day.
The journey so far had proved cold and difficult, and now Owen regretted leaving his seaside village. Rather than trudging through a forest with no clear path ahead of him, he could be in his warm bed, drinking hot lemon tea, or helping Milo gut fish.
Why did I agree to do this? My head hurts.
> When he faltered in his steps, a gentle but firm hand squeezed his right shoulder.
“Keep on,” Colt told him, pushing him faster. “I’ll buy you an ale at Berry Farms if you don’t stop to rest.”
“Honestly, Colt,” Amias started. “He looks pale as it is. Don’t press him too hard.”
Colt shrugged. “I’m not. But at this rate, we’ll never make it out of here.”
“I’m sorry,” Owen said. “I’m just tired.”
“We all are, mate.”
Feeling ashamed, Owen nodded and picked up his pace. By evening, the trees thinned out, and they finally emerged from the forest. The sun broke through the clouds in the west, and he could see Berry Farms to the south.
“At last, fields instead of trees,” Amias said as they looked out at the rolling green hills.
Owen sneezed and wiped his itchy nose. He was too tired to respond but continued in silence as the three of them crossed through the fields to the winery. He closed his eyes as the sun’s rays beat against his back. The warmth made his nose tickle, but his bones felt better as the sun bathed his body in light.
As they came to the main road, Owen caught sight of a black tower in the distance. From the road, the green hills rolled down. The ground descended lower and lower like steps until it got to the tower. It looked like a guard tower, only taller, and the top held several spires that pointed outward. Several men worked around it, pulling carts to and from the building.
“Is that a tower for Wielders?” Owen asked.
“That it is,” Amias said. “But it’s still in construction. Hopefully we won’t see any more of them around while we’re here. They have plans to make one up in Wheaton, too. I believe they built their first one in Lower Milarc.”
“I heard about it, but I haven’t seen one yet. Well, until now, that is.”
“Why a Wielder needs such an ugly-looking thing is beyond me,” Colt muttered.
The sight of it gave Owen a strange, foreboding feeling. But as he swept his eyes across the landscape, he smiled. The ground rose and fell in several places, forming mounds of grass and flowers all the way to Berry Farms. Large oak trees loomed on either side of the path, the cool breeze carrying their orange and yellow leaves through the air. The dirt path turned to flagstone as he came into the market.
Friendly faces welcomed them into the winery town. A few food vendors were packing up their food stalls, but still urged the last-minute passerby to buy.
Owen migrated directly to one and asked a man how much it was for a honey roll.
“We can eat at the inn,” Amias said to him.
“But it looks so good.” Owen sniffed.
“Come on. It’s just this way.”
Nearby, a horse whinnied as a man brushed it down in a stable, and a few children ran down the path. The village carried in it a harmonious glow similar to that of Emberton, except more polished and well kept. Owen’s chest ached as he thought of his home, sitting abandoned now.
When they approached Berry Farms Tavern, Owen noticed a big building sitting atop a hill in the distance.
“Is that the winery?” he asked Amias.
“Yes. There’s a vineyard in the field behind it. I’m sure they’ll have some bottles here we can try.”
As Owen stepped inside the inn, he imagined drinking himself to sleep to ward off his cold.
Getting a room proved difficult at first. With people leaving the area at the end of the season, there were two vacant rooms, but the innkeeper was devout on milking them for their worth. After much debate over money, Amias and the innkeeper settled on one room for two nights, dinner included, for the price the man wanted.
When they finally got to their room, Owen pulled off his boots and half his clothes, crawled into one of the beds, and fell asleep.
Chapter 14
Owen dreamed of his mother. She sat on the porch of his house in Emberton, stitching a rip in his pants. He was younger, a boy. He ran to her, and she took him into her arms, hugging him tight, and kissed the top of his head. The scene was real; he knew it. He begged her to make a shepherd’s pie. He could already taste the meat and vegetables, and could smell the savory aroma.
But he never got his pie. His mother vaporized from his mind, replaced by dark wooden boards. He blinked several times, willing the ceiling to melt away. He closed his eyes again, wishing for his mind to take him back to his mother, but the dream never came.
He sat up, water blurring his vision, but even as he tried to will his tears away, they seeped from the corners of his eyelids and slid down his cheeks. His heart ached, but the images of his mother filled him with warmth. Sweat dampened his whole body, matting his hair against his face. He trembled as he sat up, nearly falling onto the floor when he got up. He pulled off his shirt and grabbed a dry one before plopping back onto the bed. For a while, he sat there, squeezing the fabric in his hands and letting the water roll down his cheeks.
Taking in a deep breath, he grabbed his bag from the floor and took out Creatures of the North. It was the only book he had packed, and he held it to his chest tightly. Out of all the things he could have kept from his mother, the book had been the most rewarding. He imagined sitting next to her, listening to her read from it with excitement.
Owen rocked himself, and soon his sobs filled the room. Years’ worth of heartache and loneliness built from his stomach all the way up to his heart. He had cried many times after the death of his mother, but it had been a long time since he had broken down and sobbed until his head hurt.
He was in a place far from his home, but the more he thought of it, the more he realized he had never really had a home. It seemed his life had never taken root in any place for too long. He was used to being ripped away and planted elsewhere.
His mother was a vivid memory within his mind, but sometimes it was hard to imagine her. As he sat there, rocking himself on the bed, he tried to think back to his father. If he had stayed with Owen and his mother, would he have been proud of his son? Owen knew there were many things he might have been disappointed in. All the people Owen knew or loved in his life had gone, left, or abandoned him. In time, Amias would do the same, but he wanted to hold on to that connection while he could.
Is there something about me that wards these people away? Perhaps I’m cursed.
He shook the thoughts away. He had slept a long time. The itch in his eyes and nose was not as bad, and the soreness in his throat was dry and scratchy now. He wiped away his hot tears with the back of his hand and pulled his shirt on.
When the door opened, he jumped, but it was only Colt.
“Ah, you’re up,” Colt said, carrying a tray with two bowls and a cup. He set the tray down on the bed and handed Owen a bowl. “It’s soup. Figured you might want some.”
Owen put his book down. “That’s . . . very generous of you.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Owen smiled before he dug into the brothy roast and vegetable soup. The steam lifted Owen’s spirit and made his throat feel better. “What time is it?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“Around nine.”
“I slept all night?”
“You needed the rest. You look better.” Colt cocked his head and peered at him. “All right, mate?”
“I’m fine,” Owen said, sniffing as he held his chin up. “Just a runny nose. Where’s Amias?”
Colt sat on the other bed as he ate. “Trying to find a good wine for later. I’ll even let you have some herb if you want.”
“I may take you up on that.”
After he ate, Owen stood up slowly. His whole body was stiff. Even the muscles in his back ached when he stretched them. He changed his trousers and pulled on his boots and coat that had dried by the fire burning in the hearth, then pulled his hair back into a band at the nape of his neck.
“Going off?” Colt asked.
“I need to move around. My whole body is sore.”
“Care to visit the winery? Wanted to taste some sam
ples.”
Owen made a face at that. “Do you want us to get drunk?”
His companion shrugged. “Probably.”
“I suppose some wine could do me some good.”
“All right, then.” Colt set aside his bowl and grabbed his coat before making his way out of the room.
Outside, the day was sunny and cool. After the loneliness he’d felt earlier, Owen was happy to have company, and he strolled up the hill with a smile on his face. When they came to the chateau at the top, they met a steward at the entrance.
“How may I help you, gentlemen?” the steward asked, sizing them up carefully.
“Yeah, we’d like a tour,” Colt said.
“Have you made a reservation?”
Owen and Colt exchanged glances.
“Reservation?” Colt asked. “What folly is that?”
“The chateau’s policy, sir,” the man remarked. “If you do not have a reservation, I cannot let you in.”
“I got money. I can pay here just fine.”
“It’s okay, really,” Owen said.
They turned away and headed back down the hill. The market was bustling with people already.
“Well, that’s a pity,” Colt said. “Oh, well. Seemed a bit prudish anyway. See the way the man looked at us? Like we were dressed as paupers.”
“Probably a correct accusation,” Owen muttered, looping his thumbs behind his suspenders. All the coin he had to his name was in his purse. Besides working with Milo and growing and catching his own food, he had relied on Amias and others to take care of him for a long time. His mother had left nothing to him except her belongings, which Amias had helped him sell after she passed, as well as their house.
On their way back through town, Owen and Colt passed a few houses scattered around the village, most of them harboring gardens of lettuce and pumpkins. Down the path, a general goods store sat beside a healer’s practice, and many shops lined the main road in and out of the village.
Owen slowed his steps when he saw a fully-built temple sitting nearby. Though it was small, he found it intriguing. He recalled Amias’s conversation in the forest, telling him that the Legion was resurrecting the buildings, but it was still a strange sight to see in Milarc, where religion was scarce.
Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1) Page 16
